


Erotic Rage-Inducing G Genocide: First Barrage

by DDorbachev



Series: Erotic Rage-Inducing G Genocide (E.R.I.G.G.) [1]
Category: Warhammer 40.000
Genre: Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Other, ongoing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-17
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-09 18:48:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4360289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DDorbachev/pseuds/DDorbachev
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a forgotten sector of the Milky Way lays a forgotten Colony. A stranded team of Inquisitors find themselves with no way home and in a strange land where they are outgunned, outmanned, and outsmarted. They must find a way home, and the longer they stay the stranger things become.<br/>An ancient race awaits the waking of the world, and their prophets are ignored.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Episode 1 - Knocked Hard

**Author's Note:**

> This series started on FF.net, and will continue on both platforms. The difference is that this edition begins at Episode 43 of what I hope to be Season 1. This is due to the first thirty or so episodes on FF.net being sub-par in my opinion, and 43 being a slight improvement writing and content wise and a better beginning. I plan to post the first forty two in a rough prologue.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An Inquisitor finds herself in captivity following a concussion.

The warmth of the liquor warmed her stomach and she drifted into a deep sleep.

Coldness. Sudden coldness hitting her across the face and trinkling down her neck woke up her up. It was dark, and she was unarmed and undressed. The rock under her felt like ice, but there was no seat she could sit on. Her natural instinct wanted her to panic, demanded she panic, demanded that she flee in a fury of fear and bewilderment. But she knew better.

When eyes adjusted she saw faint grey outlines in the darkness. She wanted to reach out and feel her surroundings, but she didn't, aware of the potential dangers within the darkness. She wanted to call out his name, but even that too was dangerous. She wanted to do so much, but her strange surroundings gave her reason to be extremely cautious.

What happened? the question kept bugging her. One minute she was having a good time with new friends, and the next in a cold dark place. She felt a slight breeze blow up from under her, brush between her legs and lick around her breasts, arms, and sides

Maybe she should feel around regardless of the possible dangers. Knowing her surroundings could help her remember what got her here.

She stretched out her arms and walked forward. It took several paces before she felt something cold, rough, and flat like a wall made of cast iron. She turned around, and took twice as many paces, and found another wall. She shimmied to the right and to the left, only to feel walls there as well.

She was in a box, possibly a cell of sorts. Cast iron all around - she figured the roof would be made of the same material. There were no crevices or bumps or bolts or hinges in the walls to indicate a door or any opening. The only opening she could find was in the floor. The metal grating's holes were small and were in a circular pattern. However, the grating was part of the floor and cast iron as well. It felt rusty, yet it wasn't brittle.

Her brain still spun in her head, and the longer it spun the more intense the migraine and the pain on the back of her head became.

Did she have a concussion?

She tried to remember, but all she came to was a blank. She dug around in her head to see if she still remembered the important things, like what her name was. Madenna? Madison? Macbeth? Madonna? All seemed pretty distant, especially the last one. Jenny? Sue? Sally? Laura? Nothing. No name gave a comforting familiarity.

Digging further, she found that she couldn't recall much other than being an Inquisitor. Why or how she was an Inquisitor seemed to have been knocked out of her head with her name. What was she doing here as an Inquisitor? No memories of what happened before came to mind besides the set of memories of drinking in a bar and flirting with some chief guard... or something like that. Although what an Inquisitor was supposed to do exactly didn't come to mind, she had a feeling that drinking and flirting seemed out of place for someone with the title of "Inquisitor".

Someway, somehow, she'd figure it out, and standing in a dark box for an indefinite amount of time would certainly not give her any idea of what happened. Most likely the box wasn't buried underground, and perhaps there was some space behind the walls. It wouldn't make sense that a buried box would have a drain underneath it, as buried boxes with people inside it seemed more of a deathtrap (with no drains) than a means of containment. Then again, it could be buried with a drain at the bottom, but that seemed less likely.

There was no way out, nor was there any way she could force herself out. But that drain in the floor as well... It could mean that her captors may have the intention to keep their captive alive. If she were to wait a bit perhaps food would be delivered, and then she could escape. That's if the box opened in a reachable place. If it opened above, there would be no way she could climb out if the ceiling was high.

"Thank the Emperor that I still have my wits," she whispered to herself. "Wits, or a lot of wishful thinking."

Something pinged overhead, followed by a voice that rung in the box like a church bell. "Twelve is conscious. Proceeding to open the cell."

Snack time already?

The walls around her lifted, letting light it. They were hinged to the ceiling, and they were lifted away with the clanking and clogging of cogs and chains. She looked down and covered her eyes from the blinding glare of the light, which made it seem less likely that she would be able to make a run for it.

Her eyes adjusted, and she saw that she was surrounded by a detail of guards. Their guns pointed down and they stood at ease. They looked relaxed, unprepared, and unaware, but she knew better. Her gut told her that it was a trap, and she trusted her gut. It was the only thing she could trust.

A white cloth smacked against her back and shoved her off her balance. "Put it on." The now clear voice said. It sounded familiar. It sounded like the chief guard.

He stepped through a pair of the guards, pushing them aside and then folding his arms behind his back. "Follow me, please," he said in a plain tone. There was no cheer, no flirtatiousness, no warmth to his demeanor, a stark difference to what was there in her fuzzy memory.

She looked around, and similar dark boxes were laid out in grid form across the massive room. Chains dropping from the ceiling were hooked to their roofs. Above by the chains were catwalks far above the ceiling lights, concealing whoever stood on them.

The Inquisitor followed the chief guard up a ramp and through a set of double doors. Two guards followed from behind, maintaining their calm appearance. The set of doors behind them locked, and to their right was a one-way mirror. "Cleared," a feminine voice announced. The second set of armored double doors in front of them clicked, and they passed through.

The hallways were of concrete and steel, foreboding in design with solid lines and cut edges. There were colored strips along the walls and floor, with words written on them such as, "Main Building", "Armory", and "Maintenance 2". Her surroundings had a more militaristic feel, reminiscent of the Imperial Guard.

"Where are we heading to?" The Inquisitor asked.

The chief guard turned his head to her, winked, and kept walking.

With everything clandestine and no visual cues to tell her the time or place, she was left to ponder. And fragments of memory returned to her, the first being how she ended up with these guards.

With arms cuffed behind her back and two guards with their arms slung around her shoulders, she was escorted away from the landing zone. She glanced back and saw the Inquisitors surrounded by guards aiming at them. They were defeated, yet their faces remained defiant and determined, especially the temporary leader of the team.

There and then she swore no vengeance, and was sure that her embarassing captivity wouldn't be as bad as the time she and the Quiet-One were separated from their Terminator escorts on a space hulk infested with gene stealers.

And that's where the fragment ended.

But it told a lot. She was not on a regular colony planet, rather one that seemed to be on its own. It did not recognize Inquisitors or the Emperor's authority. It was a heretical planet. Everyone was a target. Especially these guards in particular, which she looked at with caution due to other memories - the warmer, dreamy kind from the fuzzy bits of her memory.

They turned right at one intersection, left at another, left, and then right. Down the hall there were twenty four green doors, numbered and reinforced with a ribbed surface. A green strip along the floor said, "Intelligence". She sighed. Great, some interrogation.

A guard ran ahead and opened the "8" door, and the inside of the room was just as bland and dull as she expected. The folding chairs, stainless steel table, and the one-way mirror. Boring, boring, boring. The only interesting feature of the room was the cold air, near freezing she guessed.

She didn't let them escort her to the chair facing the mirror, she did it herself. "Might as well get this over with," she said. Three guards and the chief entered the room, the latter closing the door behind him.

The chief sat in the chair on the opposite side of the table, his back turned to the mirror. One guard took position next to him, the other two behind the Inquisitor. The chief drummed on the top of the table with his thumbs and cleared his throat. She gripped the cloth and tightened it around her for warmth. She kept a confident look. Although she did feel weak and drained, she kept her body language and facial expressions confident and capable. Sure, she was their captive, but captors generally treat the strong and resilient with more respect than those who are weak and submissive - opponent versus opponent breeds competitive respect, enforcer versus target breeds a one-way relationship of dominance.

That competitive respect she needed now due to the disadvantage the pain at the back of her head and the memory loss put her in. She also needed the respect because of the slight chance that she had been interrogated before and received the concussion to be forced into submission. Sure, a stalwart appearance could make future torture more painful, but it would leave an impression to these folk that the Inquisition was no organization to mess around with.

She stared the chief guard right in the eye with a challenging glare. "Bring it on," she thought. "Give me your best shot."

 

 

 

 


	2. Episode 2 - Pummeled by Demmel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A priest of the apocalypse is called to find missing workers at a dig

The missing workers and interns scared away investors, but that did not bother Cox. After all, those who were scared away were timid with their contributions, so all their departure affected was how often the dig team ate desert. _We are slacking a bit,_ thought Cox as he watched the crew remove the excess mud that found its way into the caverns housing the ancient underground complex. Automatic buckets, pumps, and conveyor belts worked around the clock to remove as much debris as possible so the dig could get back to work, as well as cover for the number of missing workers.

Cox pulled a worker to the side. "Would you mind going to the comms and communicating this to the other sites?" He handed a note pad with several pages worth of writing.

The worker gave him a wide eye stare. "With all due respect, Mister Cox, joining the ranks of the missing is not high on my list of priorities here."

"I'll send guards."

"Four?"

"Four."

The worker took the note pad in one hand, and slung a pickaxes over the other shoulder. Cox whistled to a guards and signaled for four to escort the worker to the comms station. _If HE goes missing, then to hell with it. I'll do it myself._ Word of the missing spread like wildfire over the past few days, putting a dent in the morale of several thousand tired yet eager workers. Even though he felt confident, deep down he was becoming a little worried himself. What happened to the intern? They found nobody in the complex, not even in the ancient hall they used as a spare storage room between the surface and the deeper structure.

 _Cox, the first thing a man must do when he finds water in his boat is to check the weakpoints._ It wasn't hard to figure out the first potential suspect.

 

Seeker Demmel sat in his tent, pondering the text of the ancients. For years these texts had been hidden in museums and private collections, dismissed as fabrications by early human settlers: fictitious tales created simply for fun. The religion formed around these texts, artifacts, and ancient sites had been dismissed by the public to be a bunch of foolishness, like the religion following the unknown Emperor of Mankind extraterrestrial traders talked about. The religion, the general public claimed, was built on false apocalyptic hopes a means to manipulate the unfortunate and hopeless. Some called it a scam, as many infamous members tried to use it for their own profit through unreasonable tithes and offerings.

The public simply didn't trust a religion speaking of a race of ancient machines rising from buried graves for an apocalypse, especially with the stories of blood sacrifices performed by the infamous "Seekers". Men like Demmel found themselves barred from wearing ceremonial wear in public, as activists had used similar garments for acts of mass slaughter and fear mongering in the past. So when ballsy men like Cox came around, men who's ego came before their sense of self preservation, and asked for an advisor, Demmel took up the offer, freeing him from the Grand Temple in the Abysmal swamps.

Cox burst through the tent flaps. "Demmel, I will apologize for my sarcasm earlier in the week so long as you can help me."

Demmel pulled back his black hood and blew out the blood wax candles on his night stand. "Of course, Cox. How can I be of help?"

"Come with me, we need to speak in private."

Demmel followed cox to the massive tent. There, they went into a sound proofed room. Cox always had one built wherever he was stationed, from he was part of the militia.

A pair of armed guards rolled open the reinforced door, and Cox and his guest went inside. The guards rolled it shut, and the lock clicked into place.

The silence in the room was a relief for Demmel, as his tent kept out everything but the noise of the work around him. _I should ask Cox if I can borrow this for meditation and reading._ The soundproofing was hidden behind wooden walls. The interior was designed to look like a cabin office, with the various pelts covering the floor, taxidermic beasts bursting through the wall, and a library of books standing behind the desk. Rifles, axes, and basic tools decorated the shelves. Achievements in a small, portable display case reflected Cox's love for the outdoors, challenges, and exploration. There were no computers in this office. The closest thing to one was a typewriter on the desk with a stack of hardy paper nearby. On the other side of the desk was a basic electric lamp, a yellow notepad, and a pen made of some exotic feather, dipped into a black ivory inkwell. (or was it fossilized bone?)

Cox pulled out the leather chair behind the hardwood desk and sat down. "Have a seat, Demmel."

Demmel sat down in a chair that stood small and insignificant compared to Cox's seat.

"Now Seeker," Cox said with his eyes cast down at the desk. In the pause, he took a metal tin from the drawer and set it on the desk next to a pipe. "I trust you to be an honest man." He opened the tin, took a pinch tobacco, and mashed it into the cup of the pipe. "You've never asked me for a dime, and you've been quite sincere. Not once has surveillance seen you come out of your tent past reasonable hours." He put the tin back in the drawer and shut it. "Searches of your possessions and your tent has shown you to be a clean man, with nothing to hide so far as I'm concerned."

Demmel snapped his fingers, producing a flame between his index and thumb.

Cox grinned, and held out his pipe. "Yet that doesn't mean that I don't have some suspicions about you."

Demmel put his two fingers in the cup of the pipe, lighting it, took them out and shook off the fire. He withdrew his hands back into the sleeves of his robe. "A man of worries and caution is the wiser than one who feels secure, especially when in the company of men like myself."

"Unfortunately that's not the reason I brought you here."

"But it has something to do with it. But what is your main reason?"

"People have gone missing in the camp."

The Seeker took a deep breath and brushed his fingers over his bald head. "So you brought me here to answer if I have kidnapped anyone?"

"Right'o, Seeker."

The Seeker cleared his throat. Struggling to grin, he said, "You see Captain Cox, when one cannot find a suitable sacrifice they must improvise."

Cox grinned and shook his head in dismissal. "You're terrible at sarcasm."

"But you saw my point."

"I did. So you didn't kidnap or secretly run off with workers and interns for secret sacrifices."

"I am familiar with secrecy, but that makes me no liar. Have I ever deceived you?"

"You have pulled fast ones."

"But not with missing people."

"True." Cox stroked his beard, and took a puff from his pipe.

"I am willing to help, as I am jealous that there is a party that is trying to play the subtle card better than I. Even so, why would you come to a mysterious man as myself? Has it come to that point?" Missing workers and interns at an archeological site - _There are obvious connections, but where is the focal point?_

Cox stroked his beard some more. "Sometimes mysterious men have the keys to mysterious events. Consider yourself the second member in my investigation team."

"Second member?"

"I am the first." He chuckled. "I just got the idea now."

"Always on site with everything."

"You understand me."

"You're not that hard to not understand." Demmel cleared his throat again. "Is there any place that can be looked over? Any location of interest?"

"There is," said Cox. "There's a tent that on the inside looks like a masochists naughty pen. I don't recall it looking like that before the intern went missing."

"Let's go then. Right now."

Cox grinned through his whiskers. "Now there's an attitude that goes after my own heart."

The two, accompanied by guards, came to the tent. Closed off with warning signs and markings, the ground in front of it was avoided by workers. Stakes were in the ground around the tent, as workers had removed the adjacent tents. Everyone on site avoided the cursed tent, refusing to step near it. It was no accident, that much the Seeker could tell. _What is it though? A sign? A message?_ "I'll head inside," he said. Cox nodded and gestured to the guards. They stepped up next to him, gun sights on the tent.

The Seeker removed his outer robe revealing a dress suit underneath. He tossed his robes into the arms of a surprised Cox and entered into the tent.

It was dark inside the tent. "Cox! Restore the power! I need illumination!" Moments later the LED lights flickered on. The tent was empty, besides the LED strips above and the stakes in the floor, with clumps of blood near them. "Interesting," Demmel said as he drew a magnifying marble from his vest pocket. He squatted for a closer look. There was flesh on the stakes, and the way they were positioned told him that the flesh belonged to someone's feet. With the markings on the floor of the tent, and the flesh on the spikes, someone had their feet nailed down, and torn them free. That person most likely had an infection by now, or a pair of horrific feet.

Demmel pocketed magnifying marble and turned to the tent flaps. Then he saw something on the inside of the tent, a pair of dotted lines running up the wall and onto the shelve flaps on the roof of the tent. He looked around and found the light controller hanging from the wire, the dial set slightly below normal. "Cox, I need more power. I'm going to turn up the lights."

"Don't blow a fuse! We won't be getting another supply run for weeks"

Demmel took the controller in hand and turned up the dial until the wall was well lit. "I never thought I'd see the day..."


End file.
